As long suffering readers of this blog may know, I am fascinated with synchronicities (aka “co-incidences”), so off I hied myself to see “A Dangerous Method“, a movie on the early professional life of the guru of synchronicity, Dr Carl Jung. I found the movie somewhat dis-satisfying, although I appreciated the exploration of his relationship with Professor Sigmund Freud, beginning with mutual admiration and the possibility of the passing on of a mantle in the fledgling field of psychotherapy, but ending in bitter acrimony. Freud’s inflexible, dogmatic and narrow theory of human problems originating in sexual repression cut no ice with the more mystical and open-minded (albeit disciplined) methods of Jung. Movies have to sell, especially when dealing with such dry and rarified topics as this), so much focus was on the vexed sexual relationship between Jung and his troubled patient (eventually intern), Sabina Spielrein. This gave scope to some nodding references to transference and counter-transference, one of Jung’s more widely accepted gifts to the helping professions. His work on individuation and archetypes found mature form later in his life’s work, and was perhaps beyond the scope of this film.

The references to synchronicity were a little contrived and overdone, but having my awareness raised, I could not help but wonder at events that unfolded during the rest of my day. Having attended later in the evening the opening of the annual Stations of the Cross art exhibition at Wesley Church in the City, I took an alternative route on foot to where my car was parked, even stopping to grab a bite to eat earlier than I might have. Passing the Town Hall, I heard the familiar voice of a well known Noongar elder addressing a crowd gathered in the foyer. I stopped and went in. It was the opening of a photographic exhibition sponsored by the Wilderness Society in support of their campaign against the Woodside gas hub that conflicts with indigenous heritage and cultural interests. Some would go as far as to say that big business and economic expediency is “crucifying” again the interests of the original inhabitants of the land. Was it synchronicity that I should be arrested by a familiar voice to have my attention drawn to a topic of which I have more than a passing awareness following a contemplative experience of some artistic expression of the spiritual centre of my faith?

I succumbed and took in “The Hunger Games” at the local multiplex – a greybeard amongst herds of youth.

The screenplay is the first of several based on a popular teenage trilogy surpassing, it is trumpeted, the Harry Potter and Twilight series. Eschewing magic tricks and supernatural themes, it paints a picture of a post-apocalyptic dystopian future where the dominant population relies for its cohesion and control on the scapegoating of 12-18 year olds from its surrounding subjugated districts (the ancient story of Theseus lives again). The ability to spiel this as “reality show” entertainment keeps the masses hypnotised and subjugated. This futuristic merging of “Gladiator” and “The Truman Show” with its promise of raising unknowns to celebrity status, even though only one out of each season’s 24 will survive, touches on the angst and ambivalence torn between skepticism and idealism that is the ubiquitous mark of adolescence of any generation.

Renee Girard’s ground breaking work on “mimetic theory” came to mind. At the risk of over simplifying his work, his anthropological studies reveal a universal pattern of societies maintaining stability and cohesion through vicarious scapegoating mechanisms. This effectively deals with societies’ inherent violence by using a sacrificial victim as a lightning rod upon which our aggression can be projected. Hence, in just one respect, the sacred and solemn nature of war memorial celebrations and the feting of national heroes.

In “The Hunger Games” when a tribute falls, the crowds gathered around the giant TV screens stand and show respect by raising their arms in a three fingered salute. When some of the competitors salute each other in this way, the games masters are disquieted. This is not how the game is supposed to be played. Subversion of mimetic theory is possible and demonstrated.

What startled me however, was a poignant moment in the screenplay (concerning the character Rue) where the teenagers around me rose as one and offered the three fingered salute. For them, something in this story touched and involved them deeply.

I’m not certain if the device of the salute was intentionally linked to a style of genuflection practiced by the early Christians, where the position of the three fingers is similar to that which begins the sign of the cross.

It is Renee Girard’s contention that the story of the voluntary sacrifice of Jesus on a cross and his subsequent raising up unveils, subverts and renders society’s propensity for scapegoating powerless. Girard offers an alternative understanding for the role that the cross plays in the Christian story. Jesus taught and demonstrated a way of life that subverted the powers to the extent they needed to silence him. He submitted to his public and humiliating crucifixion. He was raised and his continuing life in his followers exposed the inadequacy and inferiority of society’s violent systems of control. A new way forward was revealed.

Is the Hunger Games a parable for a similar message? Is this why it resonated so emphatically with my cinematic companions?

Wake up, you who long deeply for a world of right relationships,
you shall be encircled by the birth of a new society.

(Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied)

“Righteousness” is a loaded word. I look back to the evangelical influences of my youth and remember the championing of this term under the backdrop of good WASPish moralistic rectitude. Later, when I examined the Greek basis of the translation, I discovered it had more to do with “justice”, and I moved from an attitude of feeling I needed to appease some disassociated code of imposed behaviour to one of striving for worthy cause.

In other words, I stopped feeling I had to justify going to the movies on a Sunday and shifted my focus more positively to the core business of discerning what was right and just action for members of the community who were hard done by. The inner shift of motivation was from “fear of doing the wrong (unrighteous) thing” to an awareness, and then a hunger and thirst, for the righting of wrongs in our life together.

I am invigorated further when I consider the nuances of a translation from the Aramaic text. The element of relationship and community is brought into sharper focus. The dangers and risks of “strident crusade” approaches to matters of justice are mitigated and the elements of “shalom” or “salaam”, the gift of the eastern vision of peace through right relationships comes to the fore.

Something to be mindful of in the process as well as the end of some of the causes we fight for.

(KJV version: Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.)

This one, in traditional expression, has been one of the most misunderstood of the Beatitudes. It has evoked caricatures of the quintessential wimp, habitually unable to say “boo!” to a goose, somehow becoming a mouse that roars loud enough to acquire all that others strive for.

Rather, and the translation from Aramaic renders it such, the Greek word “praus” bespeaks a calm spirit that remains un-agitated when the uncertain instabilities of life descend upon us. It speaks of a certain perspective that has acquired inbuilt shock-absorbers creating the malleability of disposition that can withstand the blows and ride out the storm.

One then “inherits the earth” without possessing it. An open and undemanding face towards the cosmos (aka all that is) is a stance of receptivity, something that indigenous spirituality has taught us well.

It is counter-cultural however, and the basic premise of this beatitude, whether translated from its Greek or Aramaic text, is a direct challenge to any way of life that is built on a grasp for power and acquisition. Its subversiveness invites scorn and derision, for there is no other defense available to those who would manipulate people and chattels to their own ends.

Indeed, in this Lenten season, it enhances and expresses the “servant-leader” style modeled by Jesus for his followers.

(KJV version: Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted..)

Again, it is plain to see how a translation from Aramaic (through the Syrian tradition) favours a much more active stance than that which has been traditionally received through traditional translations in the West.

“…they that mourn…” evokes pictures of helplessness, hopelessness, grief and loss. One often feels the paralysis and numbness of such a state, and the comforting, strengthening embrace has a healing role to play. The problem, however, is passivity – you can’t do much about your situation except be open to receiving what is on offer if you are perceptive enough to see it.

I appreciate the “wake up” call, which can be as equally gentle and invitational as brash and confronting. “Mourning” is recast as “frustrated desire” which, incidentally, has no value, positive or negative, attached to it. Desire can be either, and it is often frustrated. If we are awake and alert to the fullness of the gift of life, and able to determine the ultimate shape of its fulfillment, our hope is restored.

If my frustrated desire emanates from a selfish passion (the so-called 7 deadlies!), fulfillment may come in the form of acknowledging what is life-giving and what is life destroying. My yearning for a big feed of doughnuts may present itself as a vision of growing obesity and then represent itself as engagement in and promotion of healthier eating.

If my frustrated desire emanates from compassion for the poor, it will translate into action that seeks ways to alleviate poverty through available avenues – leading to renewed engagement and fresh perspective..

Translations from both the Greek and the Aramaic scripts have much to offer – the Greek in terms of receptivity and the Aramaic in terms of action. I like to see them in dialogue and people aware that they have a choice of stance according to what is needful to the continuation of journey.

“Wake up, you who devote yourselves to the link of Spirit; the design of the universe is rendered through you.”

Let it be said from the outset that I am no Aramaic scholar. I’ve dabbled in Hebrew and have a passing working knowledge (with aid of lexicon and grammar) of koine Greek, the language of the Septuagint and New Testament. My language skills are little more than those of any hack that tries to make sense of meaning.

The Beatitudes of Jesus in Matthew 5:1-11, even in the KJV English of my youth, have had a magnetic pull on me, as they have for millions of others. Over the years I’ve used word plays in my sermonising, at one stage calling them the “Be” attitudes. Later, noting the passive “makarios” of the koine Greek, I suggested that Jesus was simply drawing the attention of strivers to those who already live in a state of “bliss”, who fly under the radar of the frantic. The latter however seemed, unfinished, incomplete. It seemed to conflict with the overall thrust of Jesus’ message that calls for radical transformation both within the individual and outwards to society.

More recent exposure to Aramaic, the household language of Jesus, brings me to contemplate English renditions that seem to speak the language of the soul. They make sense; they “click”. Where I struggled with the variant meanings and commentaries from the koine Greek, the variant translations from Aramaic converge to a common point where spirit meets Spirit.

The well-known KJV version of the above is Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Commentaries are often burdened with the weight of the debate around Luke’s omission of the words “in spirit” – fodder for the ongoing dispute between “heavenly minded” devout and social activist devout.
“Kingdom of heaven” is similarly variously seen – but Matthew is always at pains to talk about its “at hand” nature, rather than relegating it as some future Shangri-la.

A translation from Aramaic seems to deal with all these concerns and has an invitingly contemporary ring to it as we attend to the challenge of moving from an anthropocentric to cosmic world-view. Could it be that true poverty of spirit comes about from recognising that, far from striving to be “masters of the universe” (in whatever sphere that may find expression) we are summoned to devote our energies, wit and passion to being in harmony with all that is manifest instead?

“Makarios” is the koine Greek word often translated as “blessed” in the famous Beatitudes from the Sermon of the Mount, a collection of the core message of Jesus. It is unfortunate that a passive, almost listless unpacking of the mysterious word “blessed” renders the equally inactive meanings of “happy” or “fortunate” – hence “happy are you who are poor, mourn, are persecuted…” Such translations lead to a kind of status quo mentality with little incentive to transform self or society.

One positive outcome of Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ was a fresh awareness of Aramaic, the language of Jesus and his contemporaries. Aramaic was the language of home and hearth in rural Galilee, koine Greek the universal Hellenistic language of the commercial world of the ancient Mediterranean, hence we have both.

The word translated “blessed” is much more active in Aramaic. It is translated variously as “Wake up! Get up!” Passive acceptance becomes a call to action. It seems much more in line with the message and modus operandi of the Jesus of the Gospels.